


Art in Motion

by ValmureEld



Series: I Tried Not to Get Into the Witcher and Look Where That Got Me [28]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anatomy, Comfort, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Heartbeats, I'm predictable at this point idgaf, Platonic Cuddling, gratuitous fluff, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 10:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15362787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/pseuds/ValmureEld
Summary: Geralt doesn't get how a former blood addict derives any kind of pleasure from cuddling, but Regis hasn't moved in almost an hour.





	Art in Motion

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy it's 4am which must mean it's time for me to write more self-indulgent Regis and Geralt hyper descriptive garbage.

“Regis?”

“Mmm?”

“If you were addicted to blood, isn’t stuff like this kinda like locking an alcoholic in a warm room with a glass of whiskey?”

The vampire hummed again and shifted, turning his head and sighing heavily. He didn’t bother to get up or even open his eyes. “I suppose, if you want to think of it crudely.”

Regis was laying on Geralt’s chest, and had been for the better part of an hour. Geralt didn’t really care, he was tired and comfortable and warm and the vampire’s weight was pleasant, but in the absence of sleep his thoughts had wandered and it was no secret why Regis chose to cuddle up to him. He was as attracted to Geralt’s heat and heartbeat as a moth was to fire. 

Geralt wrinkled his nose, frowning. “Well…how am I supposed to think about it?” he asked, glancing down at Regis. His hand was resting on the vampire’s back and so felt the sigh even though it was gentle.

“A glass of whiskey isn’t alive, for a start,” he said and Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Okay. So it’s a moral thing?”

“Not at all. Morally I could drink my fill of you and see no cosmic consequence as the only ones I answer to are other vampires,” he said, ever the matter-of-fact philosopher.

“Thanks. I feel a lot better.”

Regis smiled against Geralt’s chest and gave it a lazy pat. “I’m here to help.”

Geralt snorted softly and smiled fondly at his friend. “Seriously though,” he pressed. “Why do you like listening so much? Gotta be extra loud with your hearing right on my chest like that. Is this your way of testing your control?” 

The prospect should probably have bothered Geralt, but it didn’t. He trusted Regis too much.

“I suppose exposing myself to old temptations could work that way, but no. I am not using you as a test for my commitment to sobriety. To be quite blunt, Geralt, you are to me as a painting at the gallery is to an art connoisseur.”

Geralt stared at the ceiling for a minute trying to process before blinking once and shaking his head. 

“No, you lost me. I’m a what?”

“A work of art, dear friend,” Regis explained, only then lifting his head to chuckle. He was smiling warmly at Geralt and Geralt met his eyes, brow furrowed.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Not in the slightest.” Regis sat up then, and Geralt could tell he’d accidentally tripped a lecture. Well, at least he was already comfortable and frankly too lazy to move. The vampire wasn’t the only one benefiting from the cuddling.

“You are my friend, Geralt, and as my friend you are extremely dear to me. I am fond of you in a way that I’m not certain I can describe as it involves pieces of my vampire nature that have no correspondence to your state as a human. It is a crude translation to say I love you most ardently and will feel immense loss when you are gone. It is only natural I should enjoy and even treasure the sound of your heart beating as it is the strongest proof of your life. As long as this lives,” he said, placing his palm on Geralt’s chest, “so do you and I can abide in your company.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Okay that’s the cop-out answer, doesn’t really explain the painting metaphor.” 

“I enjoy being near you because you are a work of beauty to my senses,” Regis said, his hand still resting on Geralt’s chest. He tapped it gently. “As others lose themselves in the study of a bar of music or the strokes of a brush I lose myself in the heat and the smell of you, in the unique sounds present simply because you are alive. At a distance I can track your scent and hear the vague thud of your pulse, but laying here in the quiet there is a vast difference in detail.” 

Regis shifted, gesturing with a claw as he folded his legs on the bed. “You have sharpened senses, Geralt--when you choose to use them the world has far more to tell you, does it not? Being near you is like bringing a glass to the canvas of a painting. I can smell the tang of herbs you brewed into the tea you had for breakfast and the brush of Yennefer’s perfume on your neck. I can even tell without a single drop being shed that your blood is cleaner now than it ever was before we met. There is a vibrancy to the scent I do not know how to adequately describe. It is far different than the stench of copper in blood long cold and dead.”

“Laying against your chest and allowing myself to focus on nothing but what I can hear inside--I know you find Dandelion fanciful for comparing your heart to an instrument Geralt but it truly is,” he continued, looking down at Geralt’s chest and resting a gentle hand against it once more, the way one would while admiring an intricate carving. “Your heart, your lungs, even the smallest sounds I don’t know that humans are capable of detecting--there is an endless beauty beneath these ribs.” 

Geralt felt his heart skip an uncertain beat as Regis seemed to space out looking at his sternum. “Not thinking about dissecting me, are you?” he joked, more to break the intensity than anything else. “Kinda ruins the painting if you take it apart.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Regis said, glancing up to meet Geralt’s eyes. His expression was still wholly honest and serious. “I’ve studied my share of cadavers, and while the experience was fascinating and most informative, I must admit the enchantment is far less. The structures remain and I can appreciate their intricacy and the innate beauty of that detail, but alas--” he shook his head. “With the life absent there is precious little to do but learn and bury the remains. Purposelessness has always saddened me, and what has less purpose than a still heart?” 

He looked down at the hand still resting over Geralt’s heart, his expression far away. The Witcher started to wonder if he’d probed something he shouldn’t have.

“Still,” Regis said eventually, right when Geralt was getting ready to try and break the silence. “I do lament there is no way for me to study your internal organs. Your unique mutations intrigue me and I would derive great pleasure from sketching them. There is such a distinct sound to each pulse and breath that my curious side wants very much to deduce what physically causes it.” 

“When I’m dead,” Geralt promised. “You can dissect me before I’m placed on the pyre. How’s that?”

He’d meant the statement to be teasing, but Regis looked up with a genuine expression of sadness.

“In that event, Geralt, my curiosity would be wholly consumed by my grief.”

He bowed his head, lying back down and curling up a little. Geralt felt guilty then. He hadn’t meant to cast Regis into the dark reminder Geralt was mortal. He sighed softly and stroked Regis’ hair without really thinking about it.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” Regis said softly, resting his hand by his head. “It’s alright.”

“Is it?”

Regis was silent for a while, but eventually he drew in a great breath and nodded before letting it out again. “Yes. Because I would rather have you for a few centuries and mourn your passing than live my life without meeting you at all.”

“For what it’s worth,” Geralt said softly, “I feel the same way about you. The pain I went through when you--” he swallowed, a lump suddenly forming as he remembered all the others from the hansa who hadn’t been given back. “Well.”

Regis hummed gently, stroking his thumb across Geralt’s ribs once as if to say it was alright. 

“I missed you as well, Geralt. I am grateful we were given another chance.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm past the point of being able to make up excuses for this stuff anymore honestly. I just like anatomy and cuddling and writing feelings okay?


End file.
